


In Any Universe

by tjs_whatnot



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, POV Alternating, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 10:46:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8887900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjs_whatnot/pseuds/tjs_whatnot
Summary: Twelve years after Joey left Capeside for a semester, she comes back...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fmnds](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fmnds/gifts).



“Potter?”

Joey froze. Of course, she’d expected being recognized eventually. Yes, she’d been gone from Capeside for the last dozen years, and yes, she’d been 15 when she’d left, but it was still her _hometown,_ where she had been born and spent over half her life. There were bound to be people who hadn’t left and still remembered her. It had just been a very long time since anyone had called her that. And though she didn’t recognize the voice, she did recognize the tone, so she knew who it was before she even turned.

It still didn’t stop her from being surprised by his appearance. “Witter?”

In the essentials, he looked the same; same size and shape, tall and bulky, but not overly fit or overly chubby. He’d grown into his face, his smile looked a bit more earned, but there was something else too, something else he’d grown into or out of that took Joey by surprise. It was like the photo she’d had burned into her memory of a gangly, awkward and yet oddly over-confident boy was melted into this _man_ who stood behind the bar of a restaurant that a million years ago had been a hole in the wall restaurant her family had owned.

Before it had burned down. Before her father had…

She pushed that from her mind and walked to the bar as he came around from behind it and they awkwardly hugged, and then Joey pecked him on both cheeks and he went with it as if it were something that all his friends did, yet there was something mocking about his smile when they separated. 

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle,” he said as he held her hands up to her sides and studied her. 

She smiled sadly. It had been a long time since anyone had called her that as well.

“Did I say it wrong? Because honestly, most French I know I got from Beauty and the Beast.”

She laughed, forgetting the train of thought she’d been riding along. It had been a long time since she’d lived in the moment, and she was woefully out of practice. “Not at all, it was very Lumiere of you. Do you spend a lot of time watching Disney movies? You have kids?”

“Nieces and nephews.” He led her to the bar. “Are you meeting anyone here?”

“Meeting anyone?”

“You know, a date? Dinner? Drinks?”

“Oh, god no. I just got back in town and was doing the tour to see what was different and what was the same.” She looked around the restaurant. “This place is _amazing_!”

Pacey’s smile faltered. “I’m sorry about your father.”

Joey waved her hand, then got up on the stool he’d offered. “It was a long time ago.”

He walked behind the bar again. “It was, wasn’t it? How long have you been gone?”

“Twelve years. Can you believe it?”

“A lifetime. Weren’t you only meant to be gone for like, a semester?” He held up an empty pint glass and indicated the selection of beers on tap.

She pointed to the Sam Adams. “I know. It was crazy. I got there and…” she sighed. “Fell in love. And then at the end of the semester, my father died and I just… I couldn’t deal with that, how it had happened, what he had been doing, the danger he put my family in. It was all too much, so I stayed. Then Bessie, Bodie and Alexander came to visit and with nothing tying them to Capeside anymore, where else would a classically trained chef want to be but France, so we all stayed.”

“And you never came back? You finished school there? I’m assuming there was college? Some world conquering?”

She brought the drink to her lips. “Something like that.” After she swallowed, she changed the subject. “But tell me about you, about this place, about everyone and everything. You’re a bartender here?”

“Something like that.” But he didn’t elaborate, instead did what he was told. “Well, as you probably know, Dawson is in L.A., working his way up the system, whatever that means. Last time I heard he was putting together a pilot. Some teen drama show he’d written.”

“Ah, teen drama, glad I avoided all of that,” she said. “So, did he and that New York girl ever make a go of it?”

Pacey tilted his head and looked puzzled. “New York girl… Oh, you mean Jen? You really don’t know? You and Dawson really didn’t keep in touch?”

She shrugged. “You know how it is, you make the effort in the beginning, but when it was clear to us both that I had no intention to come back, we both sort of… moved on. It’s what people do.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that people do that,” he looked a little sad and Joey waited to see if he was going to articulate the reason why, but instead he snapped out of it. “Yes, you can say that those two made a go of it, on and off throughout high school. It was an interesting relationship doomed from the onset probably. So, when we graduated, he moved to California to go to USC and she and Jack moved to Boston to go to college there.”

“Jack?”

“Oh wow! Yeah, you never met Jack and Andie. That’s crazy! They moved here what seems like maybe a day after you left?”

“Sorry I missed them. Are they responsible for this teen drama Dawson's writing now?”

“Maybe. Jack is a great guy. My brother-in-law twice over.”

“Yeah? How does that work?”

“Well, right after highschool, I married his sister.”

“You’re married? To your highschool sweetheart? You?”

“ _Was_ married to my highschool sweetheart. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Last girlfriend I knew you had wasn’t a girl at all. What was her name? Mrs. Jacobson? Our _English_ teacher.”

Pacey blushed. “Ah yes, dear old Tamara.”

“Old being the operative word.”

He glared at her, but his lips curl gave away his mirth.

“So you actually married someone who was your own age? Impressive.”

“I did. And we were married for almost 10 years.”

“Divorced?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s fine. Enough time has passed that it no longer even stings to bring her up.”

“But her brother? Your brother in law twice over? What, did he married Gretchen?”

Pacey smiled. “Nope, he married my brother.”

“Doug? Really? That whole time you were busting his chops?”

Pacey laughed. “Bless his closeted, Broadway musical loving, Cher worshipping heart.”

“So, they’re in Boston?”

“What? No, Jack and Jen only went to school there. After that, Jack moved here to teach English and Jen… she went to New York, had a kid…” he stopped, looking very somber. 

“...And?” she asked after a long silence.

“Died.”

“Died? She’s… dead?”

“About a year ago.”

“I’m so sorry. And her child?”

“Is now my niece. Jack and Doug adopted her.”

“Wow.” Joey took another swallow of her drink. “I really did miss a lot. Anyone else died in my absence?”

Pacey just stared at her and she swallowed, feeling awful. It had just been so long since she’d done any of this conversing and small talk, she’d lost her knack for them both. “That was cold, I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s just.... You and Dawson really haven’t talked, have you?”

“We meant to, or at least, I did. But a week becomes a month and months become years and meanwhile, life is happening and pulling you places you never thought you’d go, and…. Well, here I am. Did something happen?”

“Mitch died.”

“Mitch? Mitch Leery? When?”

“About nine years ago.”

Joey sputtered her drink. “Nine years! It can’t be! I can’t have been _that_ gone! How did he die?”

Pacey told her everything. Told her how Mitch and Gail had divorced, got back together, had a child and how Mitch had died. While he did this, he continued to refill her glass and also tend to the other handful of customers at the bar.

“Mr. Witter,” a kid in a uniform interrupted. “My shift is over, but I just wanted to know if there is anything else you’d like me to do before I go?”

Pacey looked around. “No, it all looks good, thanks Jeremy, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The kid left.

“Mr. Witter?”

He laughed. “Weird huh? I’ll never get used to that or the kissing up to the boss thing. I barely got used to the _being_ the boss thing.”

“So, you run this place?”

“You could say that. I actually own this place.”

“Yeah?” she asked, looking around.

“Shocked?”

“A little.”

“That a screw up like me could own anything?”

“I’m sorry Pacey, you have all just perpetually remained fifteen in my mind. And, I’ll be honest, the fifteen year old you were about an hour ago to me, would _never_ be the owner of a restaurant like this. How did it happen? How did _you_ happen?”

He shrugged. “I met a girl.”

“Your ex-wife? This Andie girl?”

It was on the tip of Joey’s tongue to ask just how long that sort of transformation takes, but she didn’t want the string of questions that might result about her own experience with love and loss. Instead, she focused on him. “So, this girl changed your life?”

“She did.”

“And she arrived about a day after I left? Now I’m really sorry to have missed it.”

He laughed again. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t an overnight transformation, she didn’t have a lot to work with there in the beginning, as you seem to remember, and she wasn’t the uh… the most trouble-free of people herself. But together, with _a lot_ of trial and error and mistakes along the way, we made each other better... Until we didn.t.”

“What happened?” Joey asked, then raised her hand. “No, I’m sorry, that’s none of my business. Nevermind.”

“It’s okay, like I said, enough time has passed, it doesn’t even hurt anymore… much. She cheated on me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Twice.”

Joey barked out a laugh then covered her mouth, looking horrified. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean it...I think I’ve just had too much to drink.”

“Well, then it’s my fault. I should have cut you off a glass or two ago. Who knew someone who spent so much time in France would be such a lightweight.”

“Watch it, Witter, it’s been a long day on very little sustenance.” 

He smiled. She’d missed this, their bickering. She didn’t really have anyone who did that in her life anymore, anyone who brought the feisty out in her. She’d missed Feisty Joey.

“You hungry? Why didn’t you say something? We’re about to close the kitchen, but let me see if I can find anything.”

He walked back to the kitchen and came back moments later with a plate of food that smelled divine even before she saw it. “What is this?” she asked as he placed it before her.

“Rosemary Chicken, Black Truffle Risotto and a beetroot salad.”

She bit into it and moaned. “Wow. This is _amazing_!”

Pacey blushed. “Thanks.”

“You made this?”

“Chef slash owner, that’s me.”

“And you just happened to have it back there ready to go?”

“It was my dinner. I was just about to sit down to eat when you came in.”

“Oh! I’m sorry. No, you should--”

“They’re making me another right now, I’ll be fine. Eat, enjoy.”

She did as she was told. Loudly, exuberantly. “I haven’t had a meal like this since I left Paris.”

“How long have you been back?”

“A couple of months.”

“Yeah? Where are you staying? How long are you in Capeside?”

“I was staying in Boston, but I’m actually here in Capeside looking at properties.”

“Yeah? Like a house? To live? Here in Capeside?”

“Why does that sound so crazy?”

“Well, you’ve lived in France. What does Capeside have after that?”

“I don’t know, don’t sell this little ‘burb short. I lived in a very similar little town in France, and people were always, _Why aren’t you in Paris? If you want to make a go of art you need to be in Paris_. There’s just something about small town life that I crave more and more in my old age.”

He laughed. “Old age? Please.”

“We are closer to 30 than we are to 20.”

“Whatever,” Pacey said, walking away from her back to the kitchen.

He came back moments later with another plate of food. He sat next to her and it was then that he realized they were now the only people in the restaurant. She looked at her watch. “Oh my god! How did it get so late?” 

“Time flies. You want another drink? You’re not driving are you?”

“No, no driving for me. I… don’t have a license.”

“Right, you were a baby when you left. Did you have one in France?”

“No. I hardly ever drove.”

They ate and drank in silence for a while. Joey marveled. It should have been strange; it should have been awkward; it was neither of these things.

“So, you’re an artist?” he asked finally, wiping his mouth with a cloth napkin.

“Huh?”

“In France? You said that people told you to move to Paris if you wanted to have a go at your art?”

“Oh yeah,” she had forgotten she’d shared that. “I dabbled.”

“Dabbled? Sounds more than a hobby. What sort of art?”

She stood up and pulled her wallet from her purse.

“Did I say something?” Pacey asked.

“Oh, no, not at all, I just need to get back. It’s been a long day. How much do I owe you?”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Please, it’s on me. It was great catching up with you.”

“It really was, thank you.”

“Well, if you’re going to be around, stop by again, yeah?”

“With that dish on the menu? I’ll be here every night.” She reached over and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks.”

***

Pacey watched her walk out, touched his face where she’d kissed him and laughed. _Who would have thunk it? Joey Potter, back in Capeside._

He looked at his watch and then reached for his cellphone to call Dawson, thinking he’d get a kick out of it. But then he stopped, remembering. Yes, Dawson had _of course_ moved on with his life after Joey left town, but it had taken a long time and Pacey remembered those first months with a groan. It had been excruciating to witness. Years later, whenever she came up in conversation-- which wasn’t very often, granted-- and Dawson still called her “The One That Got Away.”

He put the phone back in his pocket. _Later_.

He finished his dinner and was just about to stand up and start locking up when he felt arms wrap around him from behind.

“Shit, I forgot, I’m sorry,” he said, turning around. 

The girl smiled and kissed him. “You’ll have to be punished.”

“Yeah?”

She kissed him again, and he picked her up and waddled her to the door.

“Severely,” she said with a smirk. 

He called to his staff that he was leaving and continued to carry her out the door.

 

A week later and he had almost forgotten that Joey had materialized back in his life when he saw her walking down a deserted strip of highway between his parent’s house and work. He’d been there to deliver some winter supplies since his father was recovering from an operation and his mother was a mess about it.

He pulled over beside her. “Wanna lift?” he began, but when he saw her expression, he stopped. She looked like she was deciding between crying and screaming. He remembered that expression. She was frustrated. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” she answered tersely. 

“Sure you are. You have the look of a girl with not a care in the world.”

She glared at him but walked around the back of his car and got in the passenger side. “I’m very not in the mood.”

He started driving again. “I’m sensing that. Is there a specific reason to your foul mood, or just a general fuck you to the universe in general?”

She huffed. “People. I’ve had it with people.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s none of those around.”

She looked out the window as if determined not to let her mood be influenced by his jocularity. After a moment though, she just sighed. “I was just stood up, that’s all.”

“Stood up? By a guy? Who is this idiot?”

“Not that sort of stood up, though it is a guy. My realtor. He was supposed to pick me up and take me to a handful of places today.”

Pacey pulled over. “Get out of the car.”

“What?” She turned to look at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Why?”

“Because, you have _got_ to learn how to drive. You cannot be in this country and _not_ have that knowledge.”

She got out of the car. “I know how to drive.”

“Oh really? Then why don’t you have a license?”

She looked away and then went around to his side of the car. “Because I don’t drive _well_.”

“Here’s your chance, Potter. Get in.” He gestured her to the door.

They got in their respective seats. 

“Are you sure about this?” she asked, suddenly sounding insecure.

“Sure. Go ahead and put it in first.”

“This is a stick? I don’t know about this Pace. It’s a stick and it’s a really nice car. What if I--”

“Strip the gears? Run it into a ditch? Roll it off a cliff?”

“Yeah, those.”

“Well, besides the last one-- which I would take it as a kindness if you didn’t do-- they’re all manageable.”

She searched his face before sighing and reaching for the gear shift. 

He put his hand over her hand stopping her. “Okay, two things; what do you do before you put it in gear?”

“Push down on the clutch?” she answered in a question, putting her foot down on the pedal.

“Well, yes that, but before any of that, seat belt.”

“Right. Of course.” She looked embarrassed as she reached for it.

“You know, in case of ditches and whatnot.”

She clicked the belt and took another deep breath before pressing down on the clutch again and then sliding the gear into first. What seemed like five minutes later, after a lot of slamming on the brakes and lurching and grinding-- each time with a “Sorry!” from her-- they were on the road.

“Excellent,” he praised. He was really proud of himself that that was the first thing he’d said that whole time, though, there had been a lot of biting of his tongue.

“Now, when you feel the engine rev, when that needle gets to about 3,000 rpms-- now! We shift to second.”

She did, though she forgot to clutch. They jerked and sputtered to a stop. She looked like she was about to cry, which is why Pacey took a deep breath and chuckled. “At least it’s not a ditch.”

“I can’t do this!”

“What? Why? Because you stalled one time? Is that all it takes for you to declare defeat? What happened to the Joey Potter who never gave up? Who persevered no matter what the obstacle?”

“I did?”

“Yes you did, and yes you will again.” He directed her to start the car and start over.

Slowly, and with a few more stalls and sputters, and a bit of a meltdown when they got to a turn, and another when she had to start on a hill and almost smashed into the car behind them, they made their way down the road and on their way into town.

“Where is it exactly that we’re going?” Pacey asked.

“The Old Bailey place. The realtor has promised me that there will be a key waiting for me.”

“The Bailey place? How many people are moving with you? That place is massive.”

“Perfect for my needs.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m looking to open a Bed and Breakfast.”

“No way! That’s amazing!”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. I’ve been saying for years, how is this the only town in all of Cape Cod that doesn’t have a B&B on every corner.”

She beamed. “I know. I thought the same thing.”

They pulled up to the house. “Oh,” Joey said, sounding disappointed. “It’s seen better days.”

“That it has.”

“Must be why it is so affordable. There is probably a million dollars worth of repairs needed.”

“Nah, not that much surely. Shall we?” He opened the door to get out.

“You don’t have to,” she started getting out herself. “I mean, it was very kind of you to give me a ride, but you don’t need to devote anymore of your day to--”

“Nonsense. Come on. Really, I just want to see if it’s true that it’s haunted.”

She stopped. “Haunted?”

He laughed. “Still a scaredy cat, Potter?”

She glared at him, which only made him smile wider. “Still want to venture in on your own.”

“I don’t need you,” She huffed. “But, if you have nothing else to do, a second opinion might be helpful.”

“Excellent,” he said, bolting to the door like a kid at Christmas. 

They were both happily wrong. It wasn’t a million dollars worth of reno and it wasn’t, in fact, haunted. Though, if it got tourists in the door, Joey said she was willing to feed that myth.

“So, what made you decide that you wanted to get into the hospitality game?” Pacey asked.

“You mean me of all people?”

“Not what I meant actually, but since you mentioned it, yeah? The fifteen year old you were about two weeks ago in my head wasn’t all that fond of people on a whole and pretty much abhorred waiting on them.”

“I no longer hate _all_ people.”

“But you came across the sea for the first time in over a decade with a burning desire to open a B&B in your quaint seaside hometown? Why?”

She pretended she didn’t hear the question for a moment and Pacey wondered if she was going to change the subject or abruptly run away from answering like she had that first night. But eventually she began, “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Of course I won’t laugh.”

“I was going through some boxes that Bessie had brought over when she moved that had never been unpacked, mostly things from our childhood she couldn’t part with, things of my mom’s. In one of the boxes I found this guest book for the Potter B&B. I had forgotten that had been one of my mother’s only dreams for her life. That we would open a Bed and Breakfast, that she wouldn’t have to work at that bar anymore, that my dad would…”

She took a deep breath and Pacey waited, not wanting to interrupt with a dozen questions he had.

“And on the first page of this book, Bessie and I wrote our names under ‘Guests’ and, I don’t know, it just hit me. This is something I could do, and let me tell you, it came at _just_ the time that I was struggling to know that I would do anything at all, would be passionate about anything at all.”

Again she paused and again Pacey bit his tongue to stay silent.

“So, I packed my bags, compiled my resources and I came back. And that’s it.”

 _Like hell it is,_ Pacey thought, but didn’t say. He knew Joey enough after all these years-- knew women in general enough to know-- pushing for answers would get him _nowhere_.

So, they walked silently through the house and he watched her face transform about a million times. He witnessed the moment the shine in her eyes told him she had fallen in love with the place, and then as they continued, the war from smile to grimace, eyes wide with wonder to furrowed brow as she went from unabashed optimism, hope and ideas for a future that made sense, to the pessimism to the work that needed to be done, the money and effort involved.

This war and how she wore it all on her face so blatantly brought back so many memories. She’d been like this for as long as he remembered, from the first time she stood before a tree that he and Dawson had already climbed, to the first time Dawson talked her into starring in one of his movies. Others called her fearless-- for, in the end, she always did those things that scared her-- but he seemed to be one of the only people who watched her close enough to see the war that lead her to taking the risk.

He marveled that she still had so little faith in herself or her abilities. What had her life been in France that she hadn’t gained any confidence or self-worth? 

They looked at a few more houses, Joey driving to each new location, getting better each time behind the wheel. She’d only stalled once and hadn’t been honked or cursed for braking abruptly and unnecessarily the last time behind the wheel, and Pacey assured her she was almost ready for the driving part of the licensing test. She scoffed, but he also saw her beam for a moment first.

None of the houses they looked at after the first one inspired devotion and Pacey knew she had found The One. Joey seemed less convinced. 

“It’s going to take a lot of work. A lot of very expensive--money and time wise--work. I have resources, but they’re not unlimited.” They had just walked out of their third house, a small place with not much to look at inside, but an amazing view with great potential, but with no enthusiasm from her.

“No, but believe me, as a business owner myself, there are ways to boost your budget. If the Bailey place is the house you want, and we both know that it is, then buy it and the rest will fall into place.”

She looked at him like he was insane. “Are you _insane!_ Fall into place? What sort of business practice is that?!”

“One that has served me well. Remember you are talking to the man who owns the most successful restaurant in town-- the only real competition being Leery’s Fresh Fish-- so maybe I know what I’m talking about? If you don’t believe me, ask proprietor of said restaurant. Gail will tell you the same thing.”

“And what’s that, oh Mystical One?”

“We would tell you the best path to success is to follow your heart. You can’t get any business up and running-- not in small-town economy at least-- without passion, and it’s hard to be passionate about a project that begins with compromise.”

She didn’t answer, just rolled her eyes as she walked passed him. He laughed. _So Typical Joey._

They were back in the car before she said anything, and then it was a complete change of subject. “I ran into Gail, did I tell you?”

“No, you didn’t, but I suppose it was only a matter of time in a town like this. What did she have to say?”

“Not much, we just got caught up on each other’s lives, and Dawson’s. She said I should call him, that he’d want to know I was back in town.”

“So did you?”

“Not yet. I just… sort of... “

“What?”

She shrugged. “I just want to have my life in order a bit more before I reconnect. It’s bad enough that you, of all people, have to see me such a mess.”

Pacey smiled as he adjusted his seat belt and clicked it securely. “Hey, Potter, it’s a whole new year, who knows, we might even become friends.”

She started the car. “Thanks Witter, like I wasn’t feeling bad enough already.”

He laughed. “Well, if you’re looking to feel better, I think you’re wrong about this being a mess thing. Either that, or you hide your mess pretty well.”

Now she laughed too. “You know me, I am a master at hiding my mess.” 

“Yet another thing we’ve always had in common.”

“Yeah? You’re a mess? How?”

He was about to answer when his phone rang. He looked at the screen and groaned. “You’re about to witness one of the ways in which I am a mess.” Then he answered the phone, “Would you believe me if I told you I was delayed by a rabid wild animal?”

The screeching on the other end of the line made him hold the phone out. When the screaming had subsided, he brought it back to his ear and said in a calm, hopefully soothing voice. “You absolutely have every right to be angry--”

More shouting.

“Absolutely... No excuse for it… I completely understand…”

He put his phone away. Joey looked at him from the side of her eye, awed. “That’s it? She hung up on you?”

Pacey sighed. “What are you going to do? Easy come, easy go, plenty of fish in the sea and all that cliche.”

Now Joey fully pulled her eyes from the road to study him. “Did you just get dumped? On the phone? Just like that?”

“It would seem so.”

“And it’s no big deal?”

He shrugged. “Not really. It’s not like we had been together forever or that we were soul mates or anything.”

“Because you don’t believe in such things?”

“I don’t know if I’d say that, but I’d like to think I’d know it when I saw it, and believe me, I didn’t see it.”

“But you were with her anyway?”

“Why not? She was fun. I needed fun. It worked.”

“Until it didn’t?”

“Apparently.”

She glanced again from the corner of her eye. “Personality like yours, it’s a wonder you get _any_ dates.”

“Personality like yours, I’m not surprised you don’t.”

She stopped the car, and he thought he had overstepped himself again, but then he looked out the window and realized they were at one of the only lights in the entire town, and it was red.

“What makes you think I don’t? I could have a boyfriend right now.”

“But you don’t.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“Because, if you had a boyfriend, there’s no way you’d be walking into town today. That was a very long walk you were embarked on. A guy who doesn’t walk with you, give you a ride, well, that’s no boyfriend for you.”

“Maybe he’s in France, did you ever think of that?”

He smiled. “Aren’t imaginary boyfriends supposed to be from Canada?” 

Man, he’d missed this. This back and forth, give and take. He’d had it a little bit with Andie, but not like this. In the beginning, he had thought it was because he hadn’t known Andie as long as he’d known Joey, hadn’t grown up with her like Joey, but now he’s pretty sure it’s because it’s _her_ ; she brought it out in him, and he did the same for her.

“Whatever. You’re right, I don’t have a boyfriend. Haven’t for a very long time.”

“How long?” he asked, horrified. 

“Years and years.”

“Really? Why?”

She didn’t say anything for a while, just drove. Finally she answered, “Because I was married.”

“Well yes, I suppose even in France that a spouse could hamper the dating scene. How long have _you_ been divorced?”

“I’m not divorced.”

“You’re not? But I thought you said was…” he stopped, wishing he could take this whole entire conversation back.

“He died.”

“I am _so_ sorry.”

There was a long silence and Pacey studied her and her myriad facial expressions again.

Finally she said, “For what? That he died? You didn’t know him, why be sorry? That you were joking with me and treating me like a person instead of a grieving, delicate flower? Don’t you _dare_. Don’t you _dare_ treat me that way. I traveled across oceans to get away from that, and I won’t have you bring it back here. I won’t.”

“Easy there, buttercup. Take it down a notch. I’m sorry that you lost someone important to you, someone that you loved and no longer have in your life. But, do you think in a million years that I’d treat you like a delicate flower? Do you think I even have that capacity?”

It took her a minute to answer and when she did, it was with a huff, “Well, no…”

“So, there you go. Now, are you going to tell me about it, or am I going to continue to occasionally put my foot in my mouth because I don’t know the details?”

She sighed. “Maybe we take the risk of your foot, from time to time, winding up in your mouth and I’ll promise not to jump down your throat about it again. I just really don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Why? Don’t you think it would be good to get it all out?”

“Really? Not particularly. Like I said, I came across oceans so I wouldn’t be reminded of it, I just want to bask in the idea that I could be anything, do anything without my entire past pressing down on me.”

“Well, sure, if that’s how you want to live your life, who am I to argue?”

“Thank you.”

They continued the rest of the drive in silence. She drove them to the house she had rented and thanked him for the day and the driving lessons and said she’d maybe see him around. Pacey wondered if this was another good bye. 

_Yeah, right,_ he thought. _Like I’m going to let_ that _happen_.

***

Joey swiped angrily at the tears spilling out of her eyes and crumpled the newest in her ever growing rejection letter collection into a ball. She didn’t have time for them, or the humiliation and despair that sparked them today. She was already late to meet Pacey and get to the crew at The Old Bailey house, or as it was now called in all the massive amounts of paperwork, _The Potter Bed and Breakfast_. 

Pacey had been right-- and entirely too smug about it-- she had followed her heart, and it all had worked out in the end. It turned out that there were many organizations thrilled with the very idea of a B&B being opened in their little hamlet of a town. From the Better Business Bureau to the Capeside Commerce; the Cape Cod Tourist Association to the Capeside Police Auxiliary. They all pitched in with legal advice, low-interest small business loans and free supplies and labor.

She got in her rental car--that was _not_ a stick shift--and drove to the marina to pick up Pacey from the boat he lived on. She couldn’t believe she knew someone who lived on a boat. She couldn’t believe that there were actual people who lived on boats. But, Pacey assured her he wasn’t the only one, and she had no reason to doubt him. Besides, when she’d actually started hanging out with him on the boat, she could see the allure. The sway and the lapping, the calm and the possibility of swell that kept one on their toes and completely in the moment. 

She just wasn’t sure of its name: _True Love_. Really? What was that supposed to mean? Especially when he told her that he hadn’t bought the boat until after the divorce.

“What, are you meaning to be ironic?”

“Maybe that, or maybe, perhaps, though I know you’ll laugh, optimistic?”

She hadn’t laughed, but it had taken all her strength to stop herself from it.

Both he and Jack were waiting for her. Once again, Pacey had been right-- she hated how much this was happening-- she really did love this Jack fellow. He had some great stories, and most surprising of all, he seemed to have clicked something in Officer Doug Witter that actually made him fun to be around. Their daughter was beautiful and totally sassy and they all said that was all her mother in her. 

“Hey, Potter, you still looking for a job while the house is being beautified?”

She had mentioned that she was thinking of it. Partly for the money, which was leaving at an alarming rate with nothing to show for it at present, but mostly to get her out of her own head and also give her true excuse for abandoning her art. She just hadn’t felt it since she’d been back to the States--even before that if she were being honest with herself--and the steady supply of rejections from up and down the eastern seaboard wasn’t inspiring her to rekindle the spark.

“What do you got?” she asked.

“We’re catering a wedding next weekend and we could use more wait staff. We’re desperate. So desperate I’ve even roped Jack here to help out.”

“You’ve waited before?” Joey asked.

“Badly. But yes, I have been a waiter before.”

“Sounds fun, I’m in.”

“Tell her who’s wedding it is,” Jack ordered Pacey.

Pacey turned to glare at him in the back seat. 

“Who?” Joey asked.

“An old girlfriend.”

“And two of the five bridesmaids?” Jack prodded.

“Also exes,” Pacey conceded.

Joey laughed. “Then I’ll _definitely_ be there.”

Pacey ignored their chuckles. “If you want, either of you, if you’re feeling rusty, you’d be free to pick up a shift or two at the restaurant leading up to the event. Earn even more money and whatnot.”

“Sure. I got the time, all the time in the world since everything takes longer than I was told it would and I’m probably going to miss the lucrative tourist season entirely this year.”

“Maybe,” Pacey began, “but you forget, there are two important seasons in the New England tourist cycle.There is the summer that really only affects the seaside and mountain region, and then there is the even better autumn season that is like a windfall for quaint towns and their equally quaint establishments that _scream_ Yankee charm. If you miss the summer, which we don’t know yet that you will Ms. Worrywort, then you’ll _definitely_ be up and running by then.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“When have I ever been wrong?”

She groaned. He was going to be downright unbearable if this streak of his continued.

They spent that day busy ripping the floors up on the main floor and tearing down a wall or two. Then, after a shower on Pacey’s boat, which was closer to the site than her rented house was, she headed to the restaurant to relearn the ropes of waiting on people without exercising the desire to spit in their food.

But not once did she think of the rejection of earlier that day, not once did she question how she ever thought she could even be an artist. Not until, after clocking out and sitting down at the bar to count her tips and have a drink, she quickly checked her email on her phone.

> Mrs. Clouet,
> 
> While your work is surely stunning and provocative, we don’t see it fitting into any of our current or upcoming exhibits for the foreseeable future. 
> 
> Thank you for the interest in our gallery. Best of luck in your endeavors.
> 
> The Blake  
>  NYC, PARIS, FLORENCE

“Joey?” Pacey started slow and soft, coming to stand beside her. “What is it? What’s…”

She looked at him but he was blurry. _Ah, fuck_ , she cursed herself, swiping at her goddamned tears. She shook her head. “It’s… it’s nothing.”

He gently took the phone from her and she let him. Better to read it for himself than her having to explain it, and she knew he wouldn’t let it go without an explanation. One of the downfalls of hanging out with Pacey Witter, the insistence of _talking_ and whatnot. It was exhausting.

“Mrs. Clouet? That’s you?”

She groaned. “I was desperate.”

“How so?”

She looked down, Pacey stood up on the rung of the barstool he was on and reached for a glasses and a bottle of wine. He poured them to the top before sliding one to her. She took a long drink before beginning in a mumble. He moved close to hear her without having to ask to repeat herself.

“In some artistic circles, my husband’s name carries a lot of weight, even now… _especially_ now… it was a cheap way to… to maybe get noticed… maybe be taken serious… it was… stupid…”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he started, but then instead of saying anything else, he just took her in his arms.

She didn’t know why her first instinct was to freeze, to recoil, but she sighed when that gut reaction quickly was replaced by a completely different sort of reaction entirely. She felt herself almost melt into his arms as she wrapped her hands around him too. 

It had been a long time since she’d felt _anything_ while in an embrace. Living in France, the first thing she had to get accustomed to was the amount and levels of physical affections. It took her a long time to get used to all the hugging and kissing. But, like anything you became used to, it became common, it lacked anything having to do with true emotions, true affections. Then after Danny had died, suddenly the touching, the constant invasion of her personal space got _too_ personal, too real and far, far too much.

But this? Well this was something she hadn’t felt for a very long time--if ever. This complete surrender of her personal space for the benefit of unloading some of the burden and most of the grief of it. She sort of never wanted to let go, and when she pulled away slightly to look at him, she saw something in his eyes that said he might feel the same way. She saw something that told her if she were to rise up on her toes a little bit, reach out a little bit more, touch her lips to his that she could, very easily, change her whole life.

Instead she stepped back. “Thank you,” she whispered.

With his palm on her cheek, he ran his thumb under her still leaking eyes. Then he kissed her on her forehead and it was _everything_ ; exactly what she needed and didn’t take her to that place she wasn’t quite ready to go, but also, gave her a pretty substantial view of what it _could_ be.

Someday.

“So, your husband was an artist?” he asked, sitting back down, this time, their barstools situated so they were face to face and not side to side.

“He was. And he taught. That’s how I met him.”

“He was your teacher?” he asked with a laugh.

She looked at him. “It wasn’t like _that_!”

“How was it different?”

“Well, for one thing, unlike Mrs. Jacobson and you, _I_ was of the age of consent.”

“Touche,” he conceded.

“The age difference wasn’t even that great, just a few years and a huge amount of experience. He’d been everywhere, done everything and he… he loved me with his entire heart and… and that was enough for me. So, I gave up everything, all I’d wanted before meeting him seemed silly and unimportant. He became my… _everything_. It wasn’t his fault, he never asked this of me, I gave it willingly. I knew I was never going to have his talent, but it was enough to be beside him, to create magic together, to learn from him while we lived his success, his acclaim…”

“But then?” he asked after a long moment.

“Then he got sick. And he was sick for a very long time. For a long time, there were still days of magic, of travel and laughter and holding on to every moment and living life to its very fullest… but there were also days of despair, of excruciating pain, of anger and loss of dignity and all the time, I was there, beside him, living his life. And yet… it was… it was still enough…”

She took a deep, shaky breath. “Until it wasn’t. Until the fight was too hard, and there was nothing else to give… for either of us…”

“How long ago did he…”

“Die? I moved here a year after, so, it’s been about a year and a half now. And sometimes it feels like a hundred years ago, and sometimes like no time at all.”

They were quiet for a very long time and Joey was immensely happy for that. She’d heard enough platitudes and condolences to last her an entire lifetime and she couldn’t take it if Pacey said any of them. She was relieved when he didn’t, but she wasn’t expecting what he did say either.

“Could you show me some of your work sometime?”

“What?”

“Your work? Your art? I want to tell you those galleries are bullshit and that you have massive amounts of talent that they are just too blind to see, but I realized that it would seem pretty empty if I’ve actually never _seen_ any of your work.”

“Uh… well… I guess… sure… sometime.”

“Well,” he stood up. “What about now?”

“Now?”

“Yes now, unless… do you have plans?”

“Shut up,” she said, standing up too. “You know that I don’t.”

“Excellent, me either. Let’s go.”

“What? No dates? No new fish from the sea?”

“Nah, still reeling from the last one.”

She groaned.

***

Pacey instantly regretted requesting to see Joey’s art the minute he stepped into her spare bedroom where they all were kept one after another after another. Not because they were bad, they weren’t. They were actually quite good, _very_ good. No, he regretted it because he realized stepping into the room that he didn’t have the language to express his critique. He didn’t know what made good art, what words an artist needed to hear to believe of their own worth. All he knew was that Joey _desperately_ needed to hear them.

He was speechless. So, with a shrug, he decided to let his articulation do all the talking.

“Wow!” he went from piece to piece, moving each canvas to view the one behind it and the one behind it, each time repeating, “Wow!” Sometimes he’d throw in a “Stunning!” and “Unbelievable!”

After he’d seen everything, he looked at her. She was blushing. Obviously, his babbled and ill defined praise was just what she needed to hear. “Joey, seriously… these are all yours?”

She shook her head. He came to stand in front of her and put his hands on her forearms and squeezed. “My god, Joey, those galleries, those art houses, those _museums_ , they’re all idiots if they can’t see your immense talent.”

She blushed harder. 

“I’m serious! These are amazing!” 

Now she seemed to be the one to be a loss for words, but her flushed cheeks and the glow in her eye said all he needed to hear to know he’d gotten through. Now, he just had to get out of there before he did or said anything to ruin it. Because looking in her eyes again, seeing something in there that told him she maybe wouldn’t pull away, wouldn’t punch him too hard if he were to bend down just a bit, reach out just a bit and touch his lips to hers just a little bit.

As much as he wanted to know what it would be like and what would happen after, he knew it wasn’t right. Not like this. Not there, not now.

So, he left. But on his way home, an idea formed in his mind that made him call her immediately.

“Can you met me tomorrow morning at the restaurant? Before we open?”

“Sure?” she drawled. “Why?”

“It’s a surprise. See you then.” He hung up before she could ask anymore questions.

When she showed up the next morning, he had everything set up, and he guided her by the hand to the back of the restaurant.

“You know what’s wrong with your paintings?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, sounding unsure she’d heard right.

“They’re too small. You have all these thoughts and emotions just desperate to break out on those tiny, little canvases. You, my darling, have a Pollock talent and are constricting yourself to a Mona Lisa medium.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really. What you need, is a canvas worthy of your talent.” He stood her before the wall he’d prepared in the middle of the night and handed her a large paint brush.

“This?” she said with awe. “You can’t be… you’re giving me a wall?”

“No giving it. The wall, and the building it’s attached to will still very much belong to me. I’m just… well, lending it to you, until your own walls are ready for you. Show me what you got.”

“Pacey, this is massive.” She looked around. “And so very public.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to display your work in galleries and museums. How is this different?”

“Well, for one thing, I wouldn’t be showing those pieces until they were done. This will be on display while in progress, unfinished.”

“Better get a move on then,” he said with a smile, taking a step back. “We open at eleven.”

She looked panicked so he put his hand up. “I’m kidding. We can put a sheet over it while you work. It’s okay. But seriously though, get going.”

He turned away.

“Pacey?”

He turned back. 

“Thank you. For everything. Really. I don’t say it enough, but honestly… I don’t know how I would have survived these last six months without you.”

“I know.”

She laughed. “Could never take gratitude, could you?”

“Well, I’m not completely selfless in this, I mean, my restaurant is going to have a Potter original. Besides, in case you haven’t noticed yet… I like having you around.” 

***

And she liked being around. More than she’d ever realized, and way more than she’d ever admit.

At first, she was overwhelmed by the sheer size of the wall in front of her, but the more she thought about it, the more she thought about all she’d been through since last time she’d painted, all she’d seen and felt and he was right, anything smaller than this wall would be too small. 

Every morning she drove into town in the quiet stillness of dawn and walked around the town, really seeing it for the first time since she’d been back, seeing all the places that young Joey, Dawson and Pacey had haunted, had made their own, and the came into the restaurant, letting herself in with the key Pacey had given her, right next to the key to his boat and the key to her car that she wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for him, and she painted. She painted all her feelings, all her thoughts, her past and future, her pain and suffering, and most importantly, her hope for a future.

Then every day before the staff showed up, before Pacey came to get the menu ready, she covered it up. She wasn’t ready to show anyone just yet. It still was too personal, too much like a confession. And though, he pretended to take a peek almost every day, Pacey respected her wishes and didn’t.

She was almost done with the painting--stalling really--by the time that the wedding job came. Pacey, who always seemed like the calmest, cool-tempered chef she’d ever known, was starting to show signs of stress.

“What are you worried about?” she asked the day of as they were loading one of the vans with supplies. “Your menu is spectacular, your prep work is almost completely done, you have a well trained staff, present company excluded of course.”

“Of course,” he agreed absentmindedly.

“Hey!” she said, slugging him in the arm.

“What? Oh, yeah. Sorry. Just distracted. I know we’re ready. Just bit of pre-event jitters. I don’t do these often.”

“Why did you agree to? For this wedding in particular? I mean, ex-girlfriend? How awkward is that?”

“Ah, you know me and my almost self-destructive need to prove myself… to show the world--or a girl who dumped me--that I’m important, that I have talent that none of their small town minds can touch.”

She put her hand on his arm and squeezed sympathetically. “And having a world class restaurant doesn’t do that? Having people who haven’t stomped on your heart tell you that everyday, people like me, doesn’t do that?”

He sighed, then smiled. “Well, you don’t say it _everyday_.”

She smacked his arm. “So freakin’ needy you are, do you know that?”

“Well, in my defense, I _do_ know that.”

Thankfully, by the time the reception was underway, he’d gotten over his anxiety and was himself again, joking with the line cooks, and dishwashers as he instructed and supervised; flirting with the waitstaff and generally just being his Pacey-self. And when the bridal party walked in and marveled at the room’s decorations and the buffet offerings, Joey was standing beside him. They watched the bride and groom walk by together and there was not even a glance to Pacey. The bridesmaids however? Well, it was easy for Joey to tell which of the two had gone out with Pacey before. As they sized him up, then sized her up with him, she reached for his hand and entwined her fingers in his. 

She could hear his audible sigh and her hand in his seemed to calm him.

The night went swimmingly, and after the cutting of the cake and most of the staff’s responsibilities were over, and the bridesmaids had gotten drunk. Pacey asked her to dance.

“I don’t really... “ but she saw one of the drunk bridesmaids eyeing him like he was a juicy steak and she was a wild animal, and Joey took his hand and followed him to the floor. There weren’t too many people left dancing and the band had given up and started playing slow, bluesy tunes. Pacey put one arm around her waist and she could feel a sizzle of the heat of it through the fabric of her uniform. She put one arm around his neck and took his hand with the other. 

They stood close, too close and yet, not close enough. She found that she liked the feel of him against her, and she slowly moved herself closer as they moved in slow circles. His hand went from her waist, to the small of her back, his fingers splayed, pushing her even closer.

She looked up and his face was just _right there_ , his cheek against hers, his ear so close to her mouth that she wanted desperately to whisper something in it. But before she could think of the right words, he whispered in her ear instead.

“Can you do me a favor?”

“Anything,” she whispered back, breathy, needy and _oh_ so willing.

And without another word, he held her even tighter, bent over her, forcing her back in a dip and kissing her. She was too stunned to react, but when he brought her back up in a standing position, she saw the drunk bridesmaid storm off. She looked in his eyes and saw that the girl hadn’t been the only reason he had done what he had done, just a handy excuse.

“You should really tell a girl you’re going to do that before you do.”

“Yeah? Should I count to ten? Stand here and--”

He didn’t get to finish because she, taking a page from him, reached up and without a word of warning kissed him. 

There was no one else in the room anymore, there might not have even been a room, there was no music and they probably were not dancing anymore, though she did feel as if the room was spinning still. All there was now was him, and her and those arms holding her, those lips kissing her, that tongue telling her all she’d wanted to hear in its hunger and want. She responded in kind until the world dissolved around them.

***

The next morning when he woke up on his boat and remembered that he wasn’t alone, for the first time in a very long time, he wasn’t bothered about it at all, in fact, he was quite giddy. He wrapped his arms tightly around her naked body and pulled her tightly to him, her back against his chest. He ran his fingers along her cheek, pushing the hair that rested there before kissing the place where shoulder becomes neck. She stirred, and he flinched for a moment, waiting to see if she were as okay with her morning location as he was. 

She turned her head and smiled, melting into his arms. “Morning,” she rasped. 

He kissed her nose as his hands ran down her arm, to her hip, and finally resting on her thigh. “Good morning indeed.”

“Do you need to hurry to work?”

He looked passed her to the clock on the night table. “We have some time, what do you have in mind?” he asked, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

“I want to show you something.”

“Yeah? Can you show me while we stay here in this bed?”

“If you bring the bed to your restaurant, then absolutely we can.”

“Kinky,” he said, kissing her. She turned herself around as they continued the kiss, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and her leg around his waist.

“How much time _do_ we have?” she asked in a gasp when they broke the kiss.

“I don’t know, how much time will your surprise take?” he asked in return, kissing her while she thought about it. His hand cupping and squeezing the flesh of her ass.

She moaned into his mouth. “Not too much time at all. And hey, shouldn’t we take a shower before work anyway? I say we multitask.”

He growled as he rolled her over on her back and straddled her, kissing her lips, nose, chin and neck before moving to her chest, al the while breathing into her skin, “You, my friend, are a genius.”

***  
In the end, he barely had time to show up to work in time, let alone for her to show him what she wanted to show him.

“I’m sorry,’ he said as he kissed her one last time on the deck of the boat. “But, tonight, okay? We’ll have a grand revealing, yes? Let everyone see?”

She swallowed and looked in his eyes and saw how happy he looked and could feel in every fiber of her being how happy she was too and agreed. After all, it didn’t feel that much like a confession anymore. She had no more need of that.

She watched him drive away and gathered all her things and headed to her house. Not the one she’d been renting, but the one that was _hers_. The one that she had been told just the day before was ready for at least one inhabitant. She could move in, could make it _really_ hers. Finally. She walked through the rooms and couldn’t help see her mother in every room. This was _her_ B &B too, and she was pretty sure her mother would love it. She also saw so many possible futures in each room too, the guests she would welcome, the life she’d have in these walls, the love, the… _family…_ She laughed. Family? Her? Yes, she could have that.

She could have _anything… everything_.

On the way to the restaurant that night, she tried hard to get the stupid, silly grin off her face. Really hard. It just wouldn’t go away. But as she was about to make her way through the walkway to the restaurant, she brushed against someone who took the smile and replaced it with surprised awe.

“Dawson?”

He turned around fully and smiled. “Josephine Potter, as I live and breath!”

They hugged.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I heard you were back in town.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, Pacey called me last week and told me I should come back and see you, said you were working on something spectacular that I’d want to see.”

“He did?”

“He did. So, shall we?”

He opened the door for her. She was instantly nervous. But, she was shocked to realize that was the only emotion she was experiencing. Nervous that people were going to see her work, and in that, her soul. Not nervous that she was seeing Dawson again after all these years, Dawson who had once, a long, long time ago been her everything. She hadn’t felt that for a long time, of course she hadn’t, but she hadn’t forgotten it either. 

But now? She searched her mind trying to come up with some feeling she should have. All she really felt was very much like she’d felt the moment she’d first walked into this restaurant for the first time all those months ago; overcome with memories and nostalgia with absolutely no feeling that what transpired that night would influence her life as it was now at all. She had been wrong then, but because she wasn’t the same person now as she was then, not because she had been harboring feelings.

But, all these thoughts were forgotten when she walked into the restaurant and the room exploded with way too many people clapping and cheering. She lost Dawson in the crowd as she covered her face with shock. When she opened her eyes again, the first person she saw was Pacey, on the other side of the circle of people cheering. She tried to glare at him, but the joy and pride on his face made it impossible.

She walked through the crowd that was ushering her to the back of the room and looked at all the faces there with her. They were all people she recognized, not from her past, but from the life she had there now. There was every single member of the restaurant's staff, Jack, Doug, Amy and the entire police and fire department auxiliary who had put so very much work into her business, the girl who sold her coffee every morning, the Leery’s and Gail’s husband, who Joey was ashamed to realize she didn’t know the name of--first or last--.

Her whole entire new life were there. She thought fleetingly that the only people missing were Bessie, Bodie and Alexander, but that would have been just too much _It’s a Wonderful Life_. Plus, in the grand scheme of things, to people who weren’t there for the work of the last months, this was nothing more than a art opening, and who traveled across oceans for those?

“Speech! Speech!” Pacey started and everyone else joined in.

She shook her head vigorously, but she felt Jack’s hand on her shoulder pushing her forward.

She walked to the wall that was covered and turned to the crowd, taking a deep breath. Pacey was standing by her, but when she turned to face the crowd, he moved to let her have the floor. She grabbed his hand. “Oh no, Witter. You got me into this, you’re going to stand by me and be my rock.”

He sighed dramatically as the crowd twittered. “If I must.”

She twined her fingers in his an took yet another deep breath. “If I were here with you all just to show you my painting, I would just pull down this sheet and let the art speak for itself, but since I have you all here, I’d be remiss if I didn’t say a few words about how very important you have all become to me.

“Growing up here, while loving the _idea_ of this town and it’s offerings, I never really felt as if I _belonged_ , not really. I had a very small group of friends, consisting almost entirely around these two,” she raised Pacey’s hand with one of her hands, and pointed to Dawson with the other. “And that was enough, the memories we made, the picture in my mind I carried of our time together was all I needed and helped to form my view of the town. So, though I felt an outsider, I also felt a draw to the places that I could _grow_ into when I was ready for it.

“So, I came, ready, but not all that willing. Everything was a struggle… until I met you all. Each and every one of you have been important to forming my new improved feelings towards this town that I am extremely proud to be putting down new roots and being part of the community of with my business.

“All of this to say, I hope you see my gratitude in this piece, I hope you see what’s important to me in the Capeside here and now.”

She turned, and together, her and Pacey pulled down the sheet and stepped back.

The room fell to silence, and she totally understood why. There was a lot to take in. But she watched their eyes travel over the expanse of the wall and follow the path that she had very much laid out for them. It was a swirl of a story, that you had to step back and then move closer and closer to capture in its entirety. Like a tidal wave, it’s outside swirls were large and blurred, the waterfront view from a boat, a silhouette of three children climbing trees and chasing each other around lawns and the forest around the town. A bikini clad girl hitting a Swamp Thing. Then there was the town of now, these figures and sceneries, not in shadow, there was the restaurant with its twinkle deck seating and the door open to the bar inside, the staff, the grocer's and the baristas, Doug and Jack and little Amy, who looked in this picture surprisingly like her mother, or the girl her mother was at fifteen. In the horizons of each corner of the wall was allusions to the places people from this town had gone to make a home for themselves: the Hollywood sign, the Empire State building, The Eiffel Tower and a boat on a marina that if you looked at real close was called True Love.

It was when everyone’s eyes came finally to the center of the painting that Joey took Pacey’s hand again and waited for the confession of that part to wash over them all. Like the children in the outsides of the swell, these two figures were in silhouettes too, but it was still completely obvious who those two people were. Especially for any in the crowd that had been at the reception the night before and had seen them dancing. For there, in the painting’s center was a woman, being dipped by a man, in a tight hugged embrace.

“When did you paint that part?”Pacey asked, amazed.

“I started it a few days ago, but finished it yesterday morning.”

“Before we’d…?”

She rolled her eyes, and said in a whisper, “No. I snuck out after you’d collapsed in your post-coital coma, came here, painted that and then rushed back to your boat before round two the next morning.”

“But… how?”

She shrugged. “Someone once told me. To close my eyes and picture my future and then try and paint it. So, I gave it a go.”

“Wow. That was extremely literal.”

She laughed. “Though, it’s not really my future anymore. I guess I’ll have to imagine further down the road on my next piece.”

“As long as I’m in the picture, I don’t care how far in the future you go.”

She lifted her head and met his lips as he bent down. It was a quick kiss, but by the “Awww’s” of the crowd, not totally unnoticed. 

“I knew it,” Jack said, pulling her into his arms and lifting her up in a twirl.

She laughed. 

Then she saw Dawson standing off to the side, still taking in the painting. She took Pacey’s hand again and they went to Dawson together.

“Joey, this is… this is _amazing_.” He took her in his arms and hugged her tight. “I had no idea you had this in you. I mean, I remember your mom painted, but I had no idea it was one of those things that were hereditary.”

“Well, I don’t know if the talent came from her--I had a lot of great teachers--but the drive to pursue it to begin with, the passion I brought to it before I had any reason to believe I had anything to offer, those definitely came from her.”

“She would be so proud.”

“As your father would be of you.”

They both smiled at each other. Then Dawson said the obvious, but the all sighed when he did. “So, you two huh?”

Pacey barked out a nervous laugh. “Who would have thunk it, huh?”

“Right? Considering how much shit we always gave each other?”

Dawson shrugged. “I don’t know. Sounds like the beginnings of a pretty perfect relationship to me.”

“You think?” Pacey asked.

“Most definitely. Almost like it was destined.”

“Almost…” Pacey and Joey said together. “Almost.”


End file.
